Author: Sean

Hi All,

I’m back from San Francisco. I flew into SFO at 10PM on Tuesday, spent the entire next day in a conference room, had dinner in a neighborhood called “South of Market” that has a poplution of seven after 6PM, and caught the early flight the next morning. So if you ask me how was San Francisco, I can’t really answer.

I can tell you that it is possible to get over being a picky eater. While growing up, I lived on macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, and lebanona bologna. After 31 years, to treat my self while on a business trip I ordered a half dozen raw oysters and a caesar salad draped in white anchovies. Yummy.

Big thanks to Kevin for the restaurant advice. He sent me to Azie, which was closing, but the very nice maitre d’ recommended Oola down the street. It’s the only place open in SOMA after 10 and the food is top notch.

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Site of the Day: The wiki on “wiki,” a word now as common as the lowercase google.

I spent most of the weekend running speaker chord and boring holes in the wall. I love my variable speed DeWalt drill in way that may be unhealthy. We’ve been together for over nine years. I would make love to it if it wouldn’t hurt so bad in the only way possible with a power drill.

In between projects, I caught a cell phone pic of this couple cruising Soho in these custom chopper-bycyle-lawn-mower-engine-powered vehicles. They piqued my interest, with my love of drilling and the welding channel (Discovery) and I followed the pair to an empty storefront where they stored the bikes. I couldn’t find any further information, but I keep stopping back to the place to see if I could get a weekend gig helping with some drilling or welding. It’s important to dream.
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Site of the Day: I just found out I’m headed to San Francisco in a few hours. Cool.

I love crossword puzzles and I am fond of Elisha Cutbert, so I was happy to solve the Thighmaster’s crossword puzzle. To reward my labors, he sent me a bag of schwag, complete with and Inside Deep Throat t-shirt, a Duran Duran CD, and some DVD called Doggy Poo. It’s good to be smart. I’m mailing all of it to my brother Jerry to wish him a happy birthday today.
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Site of the Day: Superman is a dick.

Thanks to the many people who have sent me the link. Yes, it is true, first cousins have gotten married in my hometown, Altoona, PA. Once known for trains, now my place of origin is a home to cousing luvin.

Picture by Katherine Frey — The Washington Post, Doo-rag stolen from Axel Rose

The Shins, whom everyone likes, played Webster Hall on Saturday and a whole crew organized by Alex attended. Good show. Everybody liked the Shins. The opening act was a different story.

The Brunettes, shown poorly in today’s cellphone pic, hail from New Zealand. Saturday was their New York premier and it went better than I feel they deserved. Mostly they received the “New York Nod,” where NYC audiences being too cool for school or dancing, just nod on the beat to the band. Their bubble pop, complete with clarinet and triangles, failed to rock to my standards. I wish New York audiences would earn a reputation for booing newbies off stage, but that seems like more of a Philly thing.

The Brunettes had seven members, arranged like the Brady Bunch w/ Oliver, all playing a variety of instruments and smiling. The finale included Olsen twin masks. This trend of getting all the friends on stage, started by the Polyphonic Spree and Arcade Fire, has got to stop. Can I please just have three or four guys on stage (maybe a woman singer, drummer, or bassist, ie. Mary or Kim Deal) that stomp on the peddle and make my ears bleed?

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Many bloggers have lamented that going to live shows has lost some appeal as the joints begin to stiffen. My calves felt like billiard balls after spending most of the show on my tip toes to see over this guy, who was sporting a Campagnolo Cap, an item I haven’t seen since 1987.

Another odd trend that has snuck up on me: kids holding up glowing cellphones during slow songs. It may look cool, but it is so wrong. They should hold up lighters and be smoking. Why waste those strong twenty-something lungs?

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Site of the Day: According to Wikipedia, the two note transition between scenes on Law and Order can be spelled “doink-doink.” I always wondered.

Does anyone know the proper punctuation for bands with “the” in their name. Does the “the” get capitalized? What about for The The, who are exceptionally hard to Google?

Rather than go for Pope Sean Paul XLVII, the conclave chose “The Enforcer” to the lament of reasonable people everywhere. Andrew Sullivan rants on this much better than I do.
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I left the camera at home, but I have some good pictures of my new toy in the queue. Today’s shots are to explain the origins of yesterday’s to some people who inquired.
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Sites of the Day:
– A cappella Nintendo themes, cool but chorus dudes still are geeks, via Shift
– How to shake hands in any country
– Watch cartoons online
– Other than my uncle Don, I generally don’t like cops, so I enjoyed this. (I don’t hate cops, I just feel better when they are not around.) Via Black Table.
– A women calling 911 about a cheeseburger. So petulant and vile you can’t help but hate her.

I want to be Pope. It’s not technically impossible. Keep your eye on the Pope Smoke Cam (you can hear the Italian!) and watch for the white smoke when the cardinals light a big fatty to celebrate.

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My Dream Jobs
Astronaut
Race car driver
Bullfighter
Pope

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Site of the Day: Often NOT SAFE FOR WORK, but not really, the last 40 photos posted on the blogging site Live Journal–an interesting zeitgeist.

New Jersey is the poodle state. Ildi and I enjoyed her parent’s wonderful hospitality spending aquiet weekend in her home state. The only event of note, other than the really good Italian food that Mr. P cooked and the bread that Mrs. P baked, is the dogalanche that falls out of the opening screendoor when you arrive. Three standard poodles, big and cinnamon, really big and white, and really really big and black, charge out, all very eager to make friends. The dachsund just cuddles with your foot. It’s a whole lot of dog love.

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I love dogs and toddlers, but both have a tendancy to headbutt your testicles. Something to watch out for.

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Site of the Day: Check out this 19-year-old boy from Texas’ photo blog. Makes mine look soooo 1999.

First, when someone says “Ethiopian cuisine” there are a whole host of jokes that you might consider making, based on the terrible famines that country has suffered. I beg you not to make the wisecracks, though. Not because I am at all politically correct, but because those jokes are older than Abe Vigoda, and even older than making fun of Abe Vigoda.

On a side note, there are always situtions that inspire the same joke in peoples minds, along with a feeling that it is original. I sold shoes once, and when the fifteenth person remarked, “Hey, you are like Al Bundy,” I sliced his face open with a shoehorn. It’s so freaking annoying. Ask anyone with an unusual name how they feel about it. When people meet my girfriend (named Ildi, pronounced ILL-dee , short for Ildiko) they all say the exact same thing:
“Hilde?”
“No, Ildi. With an I.”
“Oh that’s unusual. Where is that from?”
“It’s Hungarian.”
“Are you Hungarian?”
“My father is from Hungary.”

I have heard that exact conversation 47 times since we started dating. This world contains six billion of the same people.

Oh, back to Ethiopian food. It is made with simple ingredients, so on one hand it is good for picky eaters. On the other, the entire lineup of food has a unique bitter-sour aftertaste that comes from the injera, the flatbread made from teff that acts as a plate and utensils. If you don’t like that flavor (and it made me want to rinse my mouth with lye) you are going to leave still feeling a little peckish.

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Site of the Day:The Difference Between Manhattan and Soho.

According to the news this week, the cookie monster is going healthy. Apparently, the muppet, whose name is the cookie monster, will now teach kids about responsible eating. While I respect the people at the Children’s Television Workshop for worrying about the welfare of kids, this is ridiculous.

The cookie monster is not about responsibility. He is the bad egg. That baggy necked freak doesn’t need other letters, especially the guest letter, or any carrot sticks. Let Elmo, Big Bird, or any of the other goody-two-shoes worry about the alphabet. “C” and cookies are all that count to this decadent beast. He shouldn’t give a crap if the little, video-game addicted butterballs in this countryneed the electronic babysitter to tell them that being fat is not cool. He likes cookies. If they want to send a message, have him only eat cookies and fat children.

That is a lesson children need to learn. The world is harsh place full of crackheads, sex addicts, and cookie fiends. The sooner a young person learns that, the sooner they can learn to protect themselves. Also, while you don’t want to be a cookie monster, they make great roommates.

I haven’t been this annoyed since Snuffaluffagus came out of the alley.

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Site of the Day: I like cooking as an engineer.